Work Text:
Shit... Shit, it hurts. A loud thump is hidden behind the sound of his pounding heart rate. Xavier falls to his knees, a hand clutching at his chest. Shit... the pain is excruciating. He gasps for breath. His eyes are wide, staring nervously at the ground beneath his feet. He can't blink, he can't think. The world has started spinning. A galaxy blooms behind his eyelids, even as his heart squeezes in his chest. Something wet falls onto his hands. He's crying. The stars blur. His fingers dig into his chest, willing himself to stabilize, but nothing works. It hurts. His constricted airways make him heave. He feels like retching. The tears don't stop, they can't seem to.
"Shen Xinghui! Shen Xinghui?"
His head spins. Your voice sounds farther away than it is. He can't respond, only swallowing dryly as he tries to still his racing heart. The ache spreads into his lungs, up his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut. When your hand holds his, he grasps it, so tightly you think your bones might break.
Your fingers close over his chest, EVOL pouring through your fingertips. Xavier swallows, blinking the tears away. His head is lying in your lap. His head is pounding. You place a hand on his forehead, lightly running it through his hair.
He counts his breaths. They're long and deep, oxygen filling his lungs, ignoring the ache in his heart as he calms down. After two hundred, four hundred, six hundred years, he would think he'd gotten used to it. Mindlessly, he reaches into his pocket, feeling for the star shaped charm. It's still there.
"What's that?" You ask, inquisitive curiosity serving as a wonderful distraction from his earlier fit.
"It's nothing," Xavier lies, zipping the pocket up. He looks up at you, a kind smile finding it's way onto his face.
"I'm okay now," Xavier reassures, reaching a hand up to the corner of your eyes. His warm touch dissipates the concern on your face, your cheek leaning into his palm to savour the sensation.
Everything was always okay when you were here. Xavier breathes, deeply in, slowly out. "I miss you," he thinks. "I've never stopped missing you," he wants to admit, watching the way your eyes close at his caress. His thumb glides over your cheek, it's as tender as the first time he did so, eons ago.
"Don't die on me, okay?" You jest, a dire attempt at lightening the atmosphere. He tries not to let the statement bother him. He's never died. Not once. Through every rendition of your birth and death, he's lived through every era. He's never died.
"As long as you don't want me to, I won't," his voice is small, but firm. He says it with such conviction, as if certain death will never knock on his door. He watches her eyes crinkle with amusement. Only he would joke at a time like this.
The aching in his heart has left, for now.